Ragnarok: What Lies In Wait
by MyLittleRosebud
Summary: A Young Boy wakes up to a world plunged into darkness without any idea who he is. An Old Man seeks a way to end an ancient war. A Girl searches for her purpose in life. Midst the chaos of a world headed towards a second Armageddon, three souls will band together in hopes to find the answers they so desperately seek. (Will be semi to full on lemon in a couple later chapters)
1. Prologue

Past  
Stalingrad, Russia, Year 6700  
Department Of Militant Affairs, Office of Director Byrikov

The Department of Social Affairs was as silent as a grave, the offices empty, the computers shut down. All the lawyers had gone home, the social workers had clocked out and the pen pushers were all now sleeping happily in bed. At first glance, from the exterior, the Department seemed empty, as if some horrid plague had overcome the building, but near the top of the building an eerie glow shone through an office window. The glow pulsed, throbbing as if it were an injury on the body of some greater being. Within the office the man, Director Isaac Byrikov, lay asleep in a half inebriated coma. On his desk, a Pistolet Makarova Besporyadki lay half loaded next to an empty flask of cheap vodka. Across the room, in a trophy case, lay medallions and tokens from the old war, each glinting in the eerie glow produced from the vidbox that sat, still dancing with the images of the Late Evening News, in the corner diagonal from the Director's desk. The clock on top of vidbox read 11:59 in big red digital numbers, and the date on the evening news read December 31st. It was the turn of the century, life was good, and the world had been in peace for 100 years. Video feeds from all over the world flickered onto the screen as the countdown began, all throughout the world crowds cried out the numbers. 10, 9, 8, Director Byrikov stirred and raised his head, 7, 6, 5, he lifted a piece of paper in his hands and shook his head solemnly, 4, he knew some thing most of the world didn't, 3, he knew how the new year would start, 2, he knew that after this night the world would no longer be the same, 1, he took a swig of vodka, a deep breath and shook his head again.

"You poor bastards. Yes, celebrate, celebrate the new year, tonight the world will celebrate with fireworks, napalm and nuclear warheads." he said as the countdown reached zero. On the news screams could be heard as jets passed over head in Neo York. Suddenly the camera moved into an angle to catch a glimpse of the mushroom cloud forming only a couple miles away. The feed was cut, and one by one the feeds from the other major cities went offline. Director Byrikov groaned as the air raid sirens sounded, he sighed and walked over to his desk. He took another swig of vodka, put his PMB against his temple and pulled the trigger. The clock on the Vidbox read 12:00 Am., and the picture on the Vidbox read "experiencing technical difficulties". In three days the world would change, in three days the world would fall silent, in three days 80% of mankind would no longer exists. The clock on the top of the Vidbox read 12:01, 5% of mankind had already been wiped from the face of the earth.


	2. Chapter 1

Now  
Somewhere in The Wastes of Blackened Snow, Former Siberia  
Year 6801

I feel it, I feel it all, the pain, the hatred, the suffering. I feel it all, and yet I hear none of it, nor do I see it. I feel the snow in reality, covering me, wrapping me in a frigid cocoon. Yet I do nothing, I want to, then why don't I. I feel the anguish, I feel the torment, but why? I see darkness, I hear silence, but I feel destruction, I taste blood. In the darkness, I see something now, ghosts, the past maybe, they are running at me, an angry horde roaring and charging at my spiritual being. I cringe, I feel them there charge, but as it hits me it becomes something else. Heat, breath, the nauseating stench of fish and blood. I open my eyes, I don't know how, but I do. I see the great teeth of a monsterous animal, the massive jaw of a Belursae, commonly known as The Waste Bear. Its nostrils flare as it inhales my scent, my heart pounds like a war drum, I tell myself not to make any quick movements. I slowly sit up, the Belursae following me with its massive jaws, it snorts and another blast of grotesque breath hits me like a fist. I turn and hunch over, placing my hands in the snow and vomiting up whatever pieces of food that might have been in my stomach. I hear laughter, thick and hardy, and tough, I turn back and see a shadow leap from the back of the massive bear beast. It begins to move closer, I see the Ak-73 in its hands, I look up into its face, and before I can catch a glimpse of the man, starvation catches up with me, and I am unconscious once more.

"I think you killed him Mika" I say, running my fingers through the brown and grey tuft of hair on my chin. More grey then brown in truth. "To think we are all the way out here searching for anything that might point us in the right direction, you go and breath on the one little beacon of light we find, and you kill him."

Mika looks at me, her brown fur swaying in the cold wind, and the look of utter disregard she gives me is more than any human could convey with words. I guess she wouldn't care, humans are infamous among the Belursae: destroyers, hunters, and murderers the lot of them. Still, in light of my current prediciment i need this one alive. It's weird that someone as scrawny as the boy laying before me would be alive in such a place, the bandits i understand but this kid; no older then 17 maybe, what was he doing out here? He wears simple clothing: brown tattered fur-lined pants, a double layered black sweater, a pair of goggles (no doubt used to keep the snow out of his eyes), a worn jacket made of wolves pelt with a hood kept in the fashion of the wolfs head, and a pair of old-world military issue boots. What an odd assortment of clothing, but from the way he looks it seems like the snow doesn't bother him in the slightest... weird. I open the satchel at my side and rummage around for a bit, keeping things in order isn't really on the top of anyones to-do list in this day and age. Finally i find my smell medical kit, inside which lay a role of bandages, an adrenalin needle, a set of stitching equipment and a small box of smelling salts. Be prepared, thats what they always told scouts... or did they.. i really can't remember anymore, it's been so long since my childhood. The videos they showed us of the old world, the Boy Scouts and the powerful armies; the children laughing in the play ground during recess and the adults crying as there friends lie dead on a battlefield. So old are those memories... almost as old as the bones and flesh that make up my body. In moments i relive years, seening the faces of friends long past and hear the words of lovers long forgotten. It takes the harsh breath of Mika wafting into my nostrils to bring me back to reality, back to the boy and the task at hand.

"Prepare for a rude awakening kid" i say as i slowly pass the smelling salts infront of the boys nose.

"And don't you dare breath on him again" i whisper to Mika as the young man begins to open his eyes.

A small grey beard, dark brown eyes, and a gruff voice laced with the heavy accent of a scotts-man. A thick over coat lined with fox fur, a hat that covered the ears and bore the insignia of a regime long since forgotten, and a face tattered and aged by sights so horrific. This is man that stands before me, wielding a pistol in one hand and offering the other to help me up. I don't blame him for taking such a precaution, he has no reason to trust me; though with a hulking Belursae at his beck and call i don't believe i am in a position to threaten the man.

"Who are you?" i ask, taking his hand, then taking to my feet.

"Moore ta tha point, who are yoo?" he retorts, adding "and wha' are ye doin' hare?"

I open my mouth to reply, but instead of words vomit creeps its way back up my esophagus. I hunch back over and release the flood of stomach acids and food bits from within my mouth, quaking and coughing as the last bits make there way out. The man laughs, a hardy laugh it is; full of life and joy, much like the being old-worlders called Santa Claus. He pats me on the back and offers me a hankey, the look on his face matchs the sound of his laugh.

"What an odd man" I think to myself, "pointing a gun at me one second, then offering me a kindness not a moment later". I try and speak but he hushes me, placing his index finger vertically against his lips, much like a tired mother does to her children as she lays them in bed each night.

"Hush kiddo, there'll beh time to talk la'er. Fer now let's git some food en tha' stomach of yer's." He states, his accent as harsh as his pet's breath. He hops onto the saddle placed on the feral creature behind him, I believe I heard him call it Mika at some point during my unconciousness. He pats the back of the saddle, a sign that he wants me to ride as well. Seeing as how he ismy only ticket out of this darkened wasteland I can't really refuse the offer, so I carefully join him on the saddle. I am uneasy at first but after a few moments I get my balance and am ready to go. It isn't until our steed begins to gallop her way across the frigid black land scape, past petrified trees and over fresh graves of unfortunate soles marked only by small blood stains, at a speed that made the whole world look like a blur, did I realize how unprepared I am for such a method of travel. Hell... I don't even know where the man controlling this beast is taking me.


End file.
